


Only Fair

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bondage, Frottage, M/M, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper awakens to find himself bound and blindfolded, completely at the mercy of his unseen assailant.  He is not merciful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fair

Darkness. That was what Sniper awoke to. No, not darkness. A blindfold. Soft fabric tied firmly around his head, covering his eyes completely, blocking all light. Panic fluttered through Sniper's mind as he came fully to, realizing he stood with his arms held above his head. His shirt was missing, and he was bound at the wrists. The bindings were firm, but did not cut off his blood flow. The tingling in his fingertips reminded him, however, that gravity was hard at work doing that job for him. He jerked, trying to wrench himself free, straining his other senses for any indication of his surroundings.

The creaking of rope on wood. Good, that was a start. His wrists were just bound in fabric. It tied to rope, probably leading to a rafter. Sniper strained to listen, to slow his breaths, which were coming so quickly. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, blood rushing through his skull.

Smoke. No sound came, but a scent wafted in. The barest hint of smoke. A fragrance he knew well. It smelled of tobacco and spice. Custom-rolled cigarettes. Like a flash of memory, it was gone, and the scent of coffee assaulted his nose. A hot breath rolled across his ear.

“Well, 'e's awake, is 'e?” growled a voice too familiar to Sniper. It was deep, warm, and gravelly, like fresh asphalt on a summer's day. It rumbled through him, resonating through his chest. Resonating lower. It unnerved the Australian, as the voice was his own. His own coffee-stained breath. His own stubble scratching where neck meets jaw. It made him shudder. “Surprised I got you here like 'is,” the voice continued as a warm hand found its way to Sniper's chin. Long, slender fingers grasped him roughly by the chin, keeping him from turning away as those lips moved, now pressed against the shell of his ear so softly. “What kind of assassin lets 'imself get into this kinda mess?”

“How?” was all Sniper could muster with his jaw held fast.

“So easy to just slide up behind you. Lookin' down that scope, focusing on puttin' your crosshairs over the RED team's doctor, or their scout, that you couldn't spare a glance behind. So simple to come up behind you,” the other sniper illustrated his point by pressing his body against Sniper's back, arms sliding down around his waist to stop at his belt. He was warm against the assassin's back. “So easy to stab you.” Sniper could feel something firm pressing against his backside as his doppelganger tightened his grip. “Or shoot you.” He grabbed hard again, pressing his erection against the bound man. “Or to simply drug your coffee.”

The last words left his captor's mouth like they were a different man's. Slowly fading was the rough, Aussie growl of Sniper's own voice, replaced with a voice like silk with the distinct staccato of a Frenchman speaking English. The scent of coffee was gone, replaced by that smoky scent Sniper had just barely caught before. The assailant ground hard against Sniper as he chuckled softly.

Sniper growled, trying very hard to ignore how flushed his face was. To ignore the creeping heat in his tightening slacks. “Spy,” he grunted, a bit more breathlessly than he'd have liked. He struggled in his bonds, trying desperately to stretch the fabric and slide his hands out. It was to no avail, save giving Spy more reason to cling tightly to his captive.

“Now now, bushman, did you think it would be so easy? You let down your guard, and I simply took advantage of the situation. And now,” Sniper felt a gloved hand sliding up his exposed belly, tracing the thin line of hair that led up to his chest, before lifting off. The Australian felt the hand brush past his face, and heard a leathery creak. A soft spitting noise and a softer flopping sound at the floor told him Spy had removed his glove with his teeth, confirmed as the now-bare hand returned to his chest and tickled delicate fingertips through his chest hair. “Now, I shall take advantage of you.” He ran his thumb over Sniper's nipple, eliciting a small shiver from his captive.

Spy removed his other glove and freely ran his hands over Sniper's torso, the ridges of muscle and bone, flesh and hair, laid bare for him to explore. He buried his nose in the bushman's neck and inhaled his scent. Sniper smelled of coffee and dust, of gun oil and leather, of fear and lust, and he reveled in it. Dimly, Sniper realized Spy was not wearing his balaclava. Warm, stubbly flesh brushed against his skin. It tickled slightly, the other man's nose and lips in the crux where neck met shoulder, and he tried to shrug hard enough to force Spy out. The Frenchman laid soft kisses on the Australian's bare neck before biting down, making his victim yelp in surprise and pain. He dragged his teeth along soft skin, preceded by his tongue, clutching Sniper close as he felt the man against him shiver, his breath picking up, coming out loud and heavy. Sniper gasped with each bite, the heat on his flesh, the claiming bites overwhelming his attempts at defiance, making him weak down to his toes. Those treacherous hands slid down Sniper's torso, again tracing that line of hair down to where it spread across his belly, down to where it dipped below his belt. He grabbed hold of that belt like a threat, slowly unbuckling it.

Sniper's heart raced. His palms were sweating. His skin was alive with millions of nerve endings buzzing at once. The Frenchman wrapped around him was fully clothed, but heat was just pouring off of him. His hands, his lips, his chest, his hips. His hips. “Ngh,” he grunted, shaking his head. No, no, not like this. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

The Frenchman bit him in response, laughing against his warm flesh. Nimble fingers undid his captive's belt then quickly unbuttoned and opened his fly. Sniper felt the warmth leave him as Spy let go, and moved in front of him. He grabbed hold of the bushman's slacks, and tugged them down, letting them fall. His underwear was quick to follow, and the cool air hit Sniper in all the wrong places. Spy stepped back for a moment to enjoy the view. Sniper was sight to behold standing there blindfolded, his arms tied over his head. His face was flushed, and he was sweating a bit. His neck was red from where Spy had been giving it his attention and his hair was a mess. His muscles were taut with unfulfilled fight-or-flight instinct. Most interesting, however, was the rather insistent erection he was sporting.

Exposed. Completely exposed. Sniper thrashed in his bonds, shuddering in horror. He could feel Spy's eyes burning into him, smell the pheromones filling the air. He wanted to run, to fight, to do anything but hang there at the Frenchman's mercy. He felt soft fingertips brush down his belly, going lower and lower, until they tapped the base of his cock, fingers cool against his super-heated flesh. A wave of shame washed over him, drowning him, filling his lungs and his mind until everything was lamenting his own body's treachery. His heartbeat so loud, his breath so shallow. His hips twitched.

“You say no, but zis,” Spy grabbed hold of Sniper's shaft like the handle of a knife, letting his pinky drift along the underside of the head. The Australian's lips parted in a silent gasp. “Zis tells me otherwise, cher.”

“Filthy spook!” Sniper spat, trying to shake himself away. He only succeeded in rubbing himself against Spy's hand, a soft grunt leaving his lips for the effort.

Spy's laugh echoed off of the bare walls of whatever room they were in. Sniper could tell it wasn't very large. Any attempts to further get his bearings all melted away as Spy's hand began to move. Slow at first, the heel of his palm grazing over his head, and quickly building speed. Sniper could only arch his hips into his captor's hand, unable to grab anything or hold himself steady. He felt dizzy as Spy reached a comfortable, if intoxicating rhythm. Teeth on his neck, his collarbone, soft lips sliding down his slim chest. He hissed as Spy's warm tongue circled his nipple, followed by teeth dragging across it. His head grew foggy, and his fingers tingled. The Frenchman was playing his body like an instrument, and he could do nothing to stop him.

Spy's grip shifted, pointing Sniper's cock upward. A soft jingling reached Sniper's ears, followed by a zip, and the shuffling of fabric. Then, heat. Vicious, ecstatic heat, and soft, soft skin pressing against his own. His manhood was joined by Spy's own, now held against each other in the Frenchman's thin hand. Flesh on flesh, blood pulsing against each other so warm and firm Sniper couldn't help but suck his breath through his teeth. That evil hand squeezed, and began to slowly stroke their two shafts.

Sniper's head lolled back, teeth gritted tight, hips rolling forward into Spy's grip, rubbing himself against the other man. A knot of revulsion sat in the pit of his stomach. Creeping up from below, he could feel himself boiling inside, an inferno of shame and lust, sensation overriding any ability he had to think straight. His body was reacting without any counsel from above the neck. Spy's breaths assailed his ears. Quiet, but powerful in their subtlety.

Eternity never really had any meaning to Sniper. The concept of time without boundaries, without end, was never something he was able to wrap his head around. But when Spy released his grip, and that sweet hand, that wonderful friction was gone, Sniper knew. He knew Forever. He hung there limp, bereft of all contact. He heard a bit of shuffling in front of him, but could care less for the reason. He was lost.

Then, infinity reached its boundary. Footsteps behind him, and suddenly, that warm hand returned, caressing the curve of his ass. Sniper soon discovered what the noise he'd heard was, as the hand slid to the part between his cheeks, and pulled one aside, exposing the only thing left on him to expose. Coldness overwhelmed him as Spy pressed a wet, slick fingertip to the tight pucker of his anus. Sniper jumped at the sensation. “Wha- what are you doin'?”

The hand holding him open slid around his waist, holding him fast. That finger circled his entrance, teasing him. Threatening him. “Did you think I went to all of this trouble for a handjob? When I said I plan to take advantage of you, I was not joking. You are mine to do with as I please.” That finger began to press more insistently. “I plan to take you.” Sniper tensed up as he felt Spy's fingertip begin to push inside of him. “I plan to fuck you.” Slowly, he slid in, further, wriggling, working past the Australian's tight muscle. “To use you.” Spy began to pull out, only to slide back in, to the final knuckle. “Until I am finished.”  
Sniper quaked as a second finger slid inside him, his toes stretched, his legs taut, his whole body tense and quivering as if he could eject Spy by clenching hard enough. It served only to encourage him, as he slid out, and in. Over and over, building speed, until he again had his captive panting in his grasp. Again, when it seemed Sniper had finally found his rhythm, and succumbed to sensation, it was taken away. Spy's fingers slid out, and a quick smack on the ass rewarded him for the whimper of desperation that forced its way from his throat. He was not bereft for long. More shuffling, and the assault came from the front. Slender hands grasped him by the backs of the knees and pulled his legs from under him. His shoulders strained in protest as his full weight was thrust upon his wrists in their bonds, buzzing from blood loss. Sniper thrashed to find purchase, and quickly did, as Spy supplied his own waist, wrapping the taller man's legs around him. That traitorous heat soon found him again, pressing against his most private of parts.

Realization dawned, and Sniper shook his head. “No. No!” He felt Spy laughing against him, silk vest brushing his hot skin. Strong, thin hands gripped him by the ass cheeks, spreading him wide. His whole body went tense as Spy lowered him, pushing slowly inside him. The pressure blossomed through him, an intense, absolute fullness. His jaw fell open, and he heard someone groan low and desperately, unsure if it was himself. Spy slid in to the root, completely filling his victim.

Sniper shivered, feeling Spy slide slowly out, caressing him so intimately, only to stall just before a complete exit. The Frenchman's head fell to Spy's collar, and he felt the smug bastard smirking. He slammed back in as hard as he could, delighting in the hoarse cry that fell from his captive's lips. He slid back, and again, rammed into Sniper with abandon. And again. And again, working the perfect angle, punishing him for his own pleasure. Hot breaths puffed across Sniper's collarbone, mixed with whispered curses in a language he couldn't grasp.

Everything fell away. Sniper panted and whined, half-formed words spilled over his lips, trying to make Spy stop. His mind was awash in chemicals, in fear, in lust, in shame, in pure sensation. Spy was hammering up into him, grunting with the effort, as he took Sniper as hard as he could. The position wasn't ideal, but those long legs wrapped so tight around him, even as he begged for him to stop, he held him in a vice grip, lithe muscles twitching. Shudders rippled through his body with each intrusion, his breath stuttering and hitching in his throat. Spy smiled against Sniper's chest, pressing kisses along his collarbone, where hair gave way to smooth skin. “You are mine,” he growled, biting down hard on the Australian's shoulder.

Sniper clung dimly to his bonds, wishing he could move, wishing he could push Spy away, or claw at his back and hold him down and never let him stop. Make him stay there, filling him so perfectly. Fuck him into a coma. His legs clamped down. His cock, forgotten between them, rubbed against Spy's vest, soft silk against his head. Sniper could feel pressure building in him, his balls tightening. Spy slamming into him, he couldn't hold back, and with a strangled grunt, Sniper's muscles tensed at once. His back arched, throwing his legs from around Spy, holding them stock straight. He ached all over as the rush overtook him, heat rising and flowing out of him, spattering that fine, silk vest in thick, hot come.

Spy grunted with the effort of holding Sniper as he tensed, then went limp as a rag doll in his arms. He pressed his forehead to Sniper's shoulder, and held on tight. The bushman had given up, given in, and Spy hissed out curses as he slammed into the taller man, stalling as he shuddered and filled him with his seed.

They remained like that for moments unending, panting and sweating, the musky scent of sex filling the small room. Finally, Sniper unwrapped his legs from around Spy, and they disengaged. Once the bushman had regained his footing, he heard the practiced clicks of the Frenchman's butterfly knife, and the soft slice of fabric. His arms fell, freed, and limp. The rest of Sniper quickly followed, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Spy knelt down beside him and pulled the blindfold up, a smirk on his tired, flushed face. Sniper smiled at the sight, always happy to see his normally unflappable partner as much as a wreck as he was. Well, maybe not as much, but close.

“Was it everything you wanted, cher?” Spy asked, taking a seat next to the supine Australian, and beginning the task of removing his soiled clothes.

“All that an' more, beautiful. You certainly know how to make things authentic.” Sniper didn't move from his place, a limp tangle of limbs. His hand inched over to sit on his lover's knee.

“I aim to please. Making falsehood seem reality is a specialty of mine, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, Spy shedding his tie and vest, tossing them aside. He sighed upon discovering his shirt had met a similar fate, and worked on unbuttoning it.

“One thing, though.” Sniper broke the silence. “You really drugged my coffee?”

Spy smirked again, shrugging his shirt off and setting it atop the pile of soiled clothes. “Perhaps. Perhaps I used something slower-acting in your breakfast. Or released an odorless gas into your sniping nest. Or dusted something onto your rifle.”

“Not gonna tell me, are you?”

“I can't give away all of my secrets, non? So, shall we go clean up and get dinner?”

“Mmm,” Sniper rolled over, grabbing hold of Spy and yanking him down atop him, “do we have to?”

“If you're going to hold me against my will, I suppose it's only fair.”

**Author's Note:**

> requested by Ravenhallow


End file.
